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The next tree root that kicked out the front end was met with an unclipped, heel-jarring, stab of my right foot, motocross style. It popped the bike upright and I careered down into a huge mud puddle and slithered to a halt. What a ride! I looked at my ODO. Just over 1km of downhill. Looking at my maps I can now see that the drop was just under 300m. Not far off my predicted one in three. I'm not sure about the 'white road' status tho' I'd like to see a car try and get down there in one piece!!! Julie arrived 30 seconds later equally covered in mud and looked pretty dishevelled as she landed dead centre of the puddle and flopped to a halt. This trip was surely turning out to be varied'.
In
The Jungle the quiet Jungle...
The slog out of the valley was as painful and long as the descent had been fast and exhilarating. My hip twinged, my grazes oozed and the slippy surface gave no grip to tyres or shoes, just to add insult to injury the heat was making the humidity feel more like the Nicaraguan Jungle than Devon. As I finally exited the tree cover at the top of the hill I stopped where a track joined a small grass walled lane and 2 minutes later met a family out on a sunny holiday walk. The looks they gave said it all really.
Bearing in mind it was mid morning in Devon, the sky was clear crystal blue, and it was at least 25 degrees in the shade I suppose it was a natural reaction for the toddler to start crying when an exhausted, blood oozing bog monster smelling a little like an open sewer (the mud had been a bit stagnant when I fell in') looked in startled surprise through white squinting panda eyes whilst it hopped around on one leg trying desperately to pull up a pair of recently wrung out cycling shorts which had become entangled in its muddy cleats. 'Er, afternoon!!!', I wrongly offered as a friendly gesture hoping in vain they hadn't heard the blue air ten seconds ago as I wrestled with my shorts. 'Lovely day!!!'. I hopped unsteadily back and forth and my nob dangled gently in the breeze. Apparently they didn't think so, and walked on sheltering their child from the strange man. In retrospect it would have been better if my bike had been in view, at least then they might have understood and not thought quite so badly of me. As it is at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that at least one day in the child's holiday was eventful'..
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Piste off
The view ahead had been opening out for a while as we crested the rounded hill and now we could finally see a mercifully flat and open looking moor ahead of us. A dotted black track wound across it on the map and our hopes of a quick ending to the day helped to raise our spirits and our speed. The moorland was a glorious place to be. The smell of warm grass and heather mingled with the heat of the day and I would have given a million pounds to be able to lie down and sleep. We looked at our watches and (luckily as it turned out) decided to push on for a while first. Almost immediately the track disappeared and we were reduced to carrying the bikes over featureless moor on a compass bearing. The waist high step became the norm over the tussock grass and both tempers and hip flexors began to suffer.
One and a half hours later we had ridden for less than 10 minutes. My hip flexors were destroyed and we were running low on water. Our cut down maps were sadly narrow in this area and although we could see a road to our South it disappeared off the map and provided no positive 'get-out' opportunity. 30 minutes later the time and water situation forced us to make the uncomfortable decision to head off the moor, off the map, and try to find a rideable way around and some water.
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